“I mean it,” he said, pushing himself up out of his chair. I felt like everything was closing in on me. My chest felt tight and my heart was racing in my ears. “I’m not saying this to be some kind of a jerk, man. I’m just telling you what I saw.”
“You don’t know it was her. It could have been any fuckin’ girl. Just ‘cause she looks like someone who shook their tits in your face doesn’t mean_._._._”
“Is her name Tanya?” Garfield asked, looking me dead in the eyes.
I swung my arm out wide and clocked him in his right eye, knocking him right back into his crappy lawn chair. One moment he was looking into my face and then the next he was on his ass, clutching his eye. It only took the other guys a few seconds to get between us, pushing me as far back away from Garfield as I’d let them. I fought against the tide of human bodies, yelling over the deafening tattoo of my pulse in my ears.
“Don’t you ever fuckin’ say that shit about my sister! You fucking hear me, Garfield?!”
I tried to push against the wall of my fellow firemen. I wanted to hurt him so bad, to make everything he said not be true. But inside I knew that he might be right. She’d been so adamant about me not driving her to work. Was she really hiding something like this from me? My blood felt like it was boiling in my veins as I finally turned away from the human barricade.
“Maybe you need to go home,” Stoggins said softly. He put his hand on my shoulder and I jerked away and headed toward my car. I was going to get to the bottom of this if it was the last thing I did.
I pulled into my driveway only minutes later, breaking more than a few traffic laws along the way. I didn’t care. I needed to know. Could my sister have been reduced to shaking her ass on stage like some slut?
I opened the door, calling out her name. “Tanya?” I took a deep breath and walked down the hallway, pushing open her door without so much as a knock.
“Tanya,” I began, but the room was empty, and the bed not so much as touched since I made it.
I let out a snarl, driving the heels of my palms against my forehead in a feeble effort to calm my anger. The hell was she doing taking off like that? I told her to rest!
I marched back out toward the kitchen in the hopes of grabbing myself a beer to calm my nerves. I’d never been a big fan of booze, but beer had a way of taking the edge off. It was just as I was reaching toward the handle of the refrigerator that I finally saw the note.
Gunner,
I just couldn’t sit around all day and do nothing. I went to work and I’ll be back late. I’ll catch a ride home with one of the other girls. Don’t wait up.
Tanya
“Goddammit!” I growled, crumpling up the note as I pressed my back against the fridge. I shut my eyes tight, struggling to think. This rage was like a fog that just wouldn’t lift, no matter how hard I tried. All I could think about was finding Tanya and bringing her home.
I pulled my phone out of my pocket and started a search for strip clubs down town. I knew that one of them had to be the one Tanya worked at, and I’d check them all if I had to. I had all night.
Chapter 6
Tanya
Maybe I couldn’t work a pole so good with my crispy right hand, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t dance.
I used the pole as a prop, sliding my back down it as the bass throbbed in my chest. When I got low to the ground I opened my legs, showing off the goods covered by only a semi-sheer thong. What I was wearing tonight wasn’t my hottest ensemble, but short on time and short on cash, it would have to do.
Thank God I’d kept a few outfits in my locker, or I’d really be shit out of luck.
There weren’t a whole lot of men crowded around my stage tonight, which wasn’t doing much for my self-esteem. Ginger—not her real name—had twice as many guys as I did, all of whom were in various stages of professing their undying love to her ass. On most nights I drew a decent turn-out, including a few regulars. I had something of a cult following here. Guys had even followed me from my old club, the Dollhouse, just so they could keep watching me and my show, the one that kept their greedy eyes glued to me and my tits half the night.
It wasn’t rocket science. All I did was take a few classes—belly dancing, air aerobics, and some “stripping for exercise” course all the new moms were dying to try. Shit, I think I even got a Groupon for that one. It pissed me off a little that these middle-class thirty-somethings thought working a pole was all fun and games. They didn’t know jack shit about being a stripper. They wouldn’t have lasted five seconds in any of the clubs I’d worked in.
The classes paid off, though. Gave me an edge over my competitors. And that was what they were at the end of the day, all these women grinding on the stage—my competition.
And tonight, I was failing miserably.
I lunged forward and crawled toward my audience. It didn’t come off as sexy as it usually did—I had to sort of army-crawl on my forearms so’s to keep pressure off my bandaged hand. I tried to make my movements sensual and slow, but the guys couldn’t get a good view of my tits, and when I looked into their eyes, I saw frustration. Pity.
I wasn’t sure which made me feel worse.
But then I saw it: somebody holding up a twenty, waving it around like a matador flagging down a bull. I blew out a sigh of relief and sat up, sweeping my legs off the stage and putting my feet on the ground.
Thank God. I was starting to think I wasn’t going to make back my bus fare for the evening. Not to mention that the more money I put in my pocket—or my G-string—the quicker I could get the hell out of my stepbrother’s house.
Asshole thinks he owns me now, I thought, walking toward my customer with long strides that made my tits jiggle. Like he can just swoop in after all these years and start acting like we’re family again.
But Gunner wasn’t really acting like we were family at all. The way he’d looked at me when I stepped out of the shower. The way his eyes had roamed over every inch and curve of my body. The way his jaw twitched like he was just barely holding back. God, he’d looked at me like_._._.
Like he wanted to fuck me.
On the other side of the group of men, I finally caught a glimpse of the guy with the twenty. My heart sank. Motherfucker—it was Gino.
He folded up the bill in one of his pudgy hands and gave me an appraising look. His lips tightened into a thin, grim line across his sweaty face, and he slowly shook his head as his gaze snagged on my bandaged hand.
“Shit. If you’d told me it was this bad, I would’ve let you stay home.”
I did tell you it was this bad, I wanted to say, but I knew better than to argue with Gino. It was like playing chess with a pigeon. No matter how right I was, he was just gonna shit all over the board and strut around like he’d won, anyway.
“Chastity’s got your stage for the next hour,” he continued, using the bill to mop sweat from under his chins. “You got a visitor.”
I squinted at him. “A visitor? I’m workin’ here, Gino.”
“Yeah, and now you’re workin’ there,” he said, jerking his head toward the back of the club, “in the champagne room.”
The Domino wasn’t nice enough to have a real champagne room, but what we had did the trick. It offered the girls and their customer privacy whenever somebody decided to spring for a more intimate lap dance. I knew some of the other girls found ways to earn a little more back there—blowjobs, handjobs, full-on fucking. I wasn’t part of that club. That stuff led down dark paths.
We got a lot of lonely guys here. A lot of guys that came in because nobody else would have them. They ran the gamut from just a little awkward to real goddamn creeps. But one guy had transcended all the regular weirdoes we got around here. One guy had sca
red me so damn bad I’d almost quit working right then and there.
I shook off the chill snaking up my spine and said to Gino, “How’s the money on this one?”
Gino shrugged. “Not bad. Ain’t the world’s biggest spender, this one, but better than you would’ve made out here.” He handed me the damp twenty-dollar bill. “Here. Maybe this’ll sweeten the deal.”
Gross! I plucked the money from his hand with the tips of my nails. Twenty dollars was still twenty dollars, even sweat-stained and reeking of Crown Royale.
I wove through the tables, spying Ginger grinding on stage out of the corner of my eye. Her red hair flashed as she flipped it, stealing a glance in my direction. I saw her smirk—saw triumph glitter in her eyes. Whatever, bitch. I won’t be out of commission forever.